Caesar’s eyes dimmed as they rose to the man standing quietly on the steps above him. Caesar’s Latin remained terse and elegant down to his last breath. “Even you, Brutus?”
Brutus snorted, looked past his dying leader, and caught the eye of the waiting centurion. The soldiers opened ranks, and two burly legionnaires manhandled a cursing Marc Antony out into the open. Brutus nodded once, and the centurion drew a pugio. Antony’s struggles grew frenzied and his cursing took on a shrill edge. The centurion took two long steps and thrust the wide blade up under Antony’s ribcage. Antony stiffened, and bright blood burst out of his mouth. When he stilled, the legionnaires dropped his body to the cold stone. The centurion turned, his men reforming ranks under his watchful eye, and set his century in motion. Brutus watched the senators pick their slow way down the steps, dripping blades dangling, forgotten in many hands, careful to avoid the blood pooling around the two bodies, and he smiled.
I nodded and took my eyes away from the screen. A Brutus with the conscience and political instincts of a Stalin. Down that particular Way, Octavian wouldn’t see his nineteenth birthday. The development of Rome would be interesting without Augustus.
My gaze ran across the weapons hanging from the walls: racked swords and splintered lances from the First Crusade; broken shields from the fall of Byzantium; automatic rifles from frozen Chozen with the butts split from having been used as clubs in close quarters. Between these Momento Belli hung scraps of parchment bearing quotes from Dante and Pound, and over the door the infamous image fluttered: a headless body holding its head before it like a lantern, the eyes in the head burning with a rage bright enough to light the way. Bertrans de Born had come a long way from Altaforte, but at least his place felt homely to him, and he kept to his main interest, making considerable money from the side bets on all manner of conflict.
No one had an eye for conflict like Bertrans de Born.
Bertrans had done well for himself with that eye of his. Analogues and parallel possibilities across the Ways are a dominant gaming variant in the gambling subculture of CrossTown. The complexity of betting on alternative personalities in variant possibilities, like a Rome dominated by a sociopathic Brutus, brings an appeal that outshines something as mundane as a horse race. Also key to the common interest is the ephemerality of those distant shifting possibilities. The closer you get to CrossTown proper, the more alternate possibilities are absorbed into the massive probability wave of the CrossTown timeline. Doppelgangers can exist in CrossTown, but they have to be far enough removed as analogues not to collapse into the subjective timeline of the dominant probability. Bertrans had a gift for sifting through the distant Ways and finding situations skewed slightly, subtly, and unpredictably to draw his clientele.
I scanned the room, looking for my client. My gaze flicked past men and women of all types, some not even clearly mainstream stock, though in the dim shadows of the bar even an experienced observer like myself could have some difficulty separating cosmetics and bodymods from uncommon genetic variants or simple supernatural beasties. In the distant motion of the crowd I caught glimpses of the familiar sight of a were-wolf on the make and the burning lure of a vampire on the hunt, but even the denizens of NightTown did not move in isolation, for I noticed the humming cameras of Calvar Trueheart flying a search pattern above the crowd. I spotted his armored form leaning on the bar. He seemed to be casually hitting on a cat-breed waitress, his Aryan features lit by flickering holo feeds, his gaze never straying too far from the camera pickups. In his sparkling blue eyes there lived a certain hope that some hapless creature of darkness might cross over the line and make themselves available to be featured on the next episode of Paladin’s Progress. Posthumously, of course.
I shook my head in disgust. Just the typical CrossTown sports bar crowd, and no sign of my client. I glanced at my watch. I’d give my contact one more minute. Times weren’t that hard and I didn’t need the work that badly.
A glimmer of motion caught my eye, a sparkling luminescence dancing like a candle flame that had lost its wick. A mental tingle swept across me as I felt Blade shift to strengthen his barrier, my first line of defense. I turned my head slightly, narrowing my eyes and then smiling as I recognized the emerald glitter of my mentor’s chief servant.
I allowed my sight to shift over to the spiritual more heavily, the sparkling, green cat eyes now clearer than the dim, dancing figures drifting along the dance floor like a dream. “Sapienta. What news?”
As always, I could taste a touch of laughter in Sapienta’s voice. “Matthias Corvinus requests your presence, at your earliest convenience. If you will be delayed, meet him down by the sea.”
Down by the sea meant down in DeepTown, at his retreat in the caves. “How important is it? I’m supposed to be meeting a client at the moment.”
“Important enough for him to send me to find you. Important enough that he wants to discuss the matter face to face.” Sapienta paused. “Is this a long term job, or a short one?”
“Haven’t met the client yet,” I said with a shrug. “All I’ve seen is a gold deposit at the Bank of Hours and a note requesting this meeting.”
I caught a spark of speculation leaping in the cat eyes. “Gold. A respectable sum for a dangerous job. Princely just for a meeting. And he said at your earliest convenience …”
I frowned. “Is that all he said? Nothing else?”
“Important, and your earliest convenience. And down by the sea if you’re delayed. I leave the interpretation up to you. I have delivered the message. I must go.”
And like a candle flame that has been blown out, the dancing emerald glow vanished.
I glanced around the room once before shifting my sight back to the physical, deciding that this client had pushed the matter as far as possible. I’d even refund the fool’s deposit, all but the hour I’d wasted here, of course. Last I checked, I was rated over a silver myself.
As I shifted back, I caught a glimpse of a looming figure solid against the shifting backdrop of the crowd. Blade rang a warning in my head as I let all but the usual light overlay of my active spiritual senses slip away. “I know. I see him.”
He had the height of a Sidhe lord. He wore his human form like an unaccustomed suit of clothes, flowing across the dance floor and through the crowd with inhuman ease and grace, painting his illusory body lightly over every motion. His course carried him relentlessly toward my table. I could feel the soldierly elements of my personal Legion scrambling to the alert.
Looking past him, I locked eyes with the vampire, who had glanced up from the sappy smile of his victim/date to follow the movements of the newcomer. Fangs flashed at me briefly, and then the vampire no longer stood there and the door flapped in the breeze. Perhaps the vampire knew something about the messenger that I didn’t.
Perhaps he had a bladder problem.
I shifted my gaze back across the table, and the newcomer smiled down at me, his hand coming to rest on the back of the chair across from me. “Zethus?”
I nodded. “Have a seat.”
He pulled the chair out, but extended his other hand. I rose grudgingly, and let his long fingers curl around mine. His skin felt cool and dry, with no hint of the power within. That made him all the more dangerous.
Blade had every defense raised. Behind him I could feel the bulwark of the others. Even the Sleepers wrapped in their prison of curves stirred in their slumber, and it had been many years of weirdness since the last time that had happened. I had not added my own will to the defenses yet, for that would have been discourteous, but neither did I call my Legion down from the walls of my spirit.
He took his hand from mine, and sat across from me, smiling slightly. “I apologize for being late. The Way was … difficult.”
I didn’t see an easy response to that, so I didn’t make one.
His smile widened. “Are you ready?”
My eyes narrowed. “I haven’t agreed to take the job, yet.”
He shoo
k his head. “That’s not what I asked. We’ll get to that soon enough. But first, are you ready?”
I had been trying to place him, knowing he stood high in the ranks of Danu’s Children, yet not identifying him. But that question stirred something. I recognized him. My will burned along the borders of my mind, but even here, if he had come for me, I did not think I could successfully resist him. “What is your name?”
He laughed. “You know me, do you not?”
I leaned forward, looking into those eyes that shaded quickly from blue to black, and searched for a glimmer of starlight. “What is your name?”
The shape of his face changed, rounded, the cheekbones becoming less prominent, and the eyes darkened, though a glimmer rose within their midnight depths. “Do you want to ask that question, Zethus?”
We played an old game, as old as mankind, old even when I walked the green earth, and if he had come for me, then I had little hope of challenging him. “What is your name?”
His features finished shifting, and for but an instant I looked into a face mirroring my own. Then he leaned back, his mask slipping back to the lean, aristocratic arrogance he had worn when he had first walked into this place. His smile showed too many teeth. “Why, I go by many names. Some call me Halfjack, for my duties ever take me between the mortal realm and my own, and some call me Shadowjack, for the same reason. But you, sorcerer, you may simply call me Jack.”
I kept my voice low. “Mr. Fetch, what could you want from me?”
He leaned forward, swallowing his smile. The expression in his midnight eyes chilled me where I sat. For an instant, I felt the touch of Death, and my Legion of Captive Powers shuddered as the walls of my spirit rang under the hammerblow of his gaze. “Do not call me that in this place, man. Do not call me by that name ever.”
I pulled my eyes away from his with effort, shaking my head as he leaned back and grinned at me. I didn’t even try to match that grin. We knew where we stood. I had broken his gaze. That would be about all I could manage. He could take me any time he wanted me, Legion and all. Death looked out through those laughing eyes, and I was no immortal, in spite of my TechTown years. Not a good moment for my ego.
I hate bargaining from a position of weakness.
I drew in a deep breath, met his eyes deliberately, and put my hands flat on the table. “I repeat. What could you want from me?”
His eyelids drooped lazily. He studied me as a cat watches a mouse. “Why, mortal man, I want to take you on a journey, of course.”
I started to push my chair back from the table. He held up one long, thin hand. “Relax. It’s not what you think. In this case, I am messenger and guide. The deposit was just for this meeting, and those funds are yours. But there is someone I represent who has a job for you. Answer me one more question. Of your Legion of Captive Powers, how many are Fae?”
I glared at him. “Is this a trick question? I haven’t made Fae my specialty, and work for the most part out of CrossTown. A few have Faerie origins, as I’m sure you know, but most are local, or from down distant Tracks. I’ve taken every one of them fairly, in single combat …”
“I’m not questioning the legitimacy of your prey,” he said. “But the fact that you have a mixed Legion, the fact that you do not specialize, the fact that you are old and experienced but not weary, and the fact that you are of a stock most mortal, all give you particular … credentials for the job at hand.”
I looked at him suspiciously. “And what is the nature of the job?”
“Call it pest control.” He grinned. “More I am not allowed to tell you. You will have to speak with your employer to find that out. I am simply a guide. I will take you there and bring you back, unharmed. I was instructed to tell you that you have not committed to anything if you follow me. And there is another forty-nine hours in it, just to hear the proposal. All gold.”
I licked my lips. That offer touched my greed, so I knew the job would be dangerous. And Fetch himself to guide me. But Corvinus wanted to talk to me, and he said it was important.
“How soon would we leave?”
“As soon as possible. The Tides favor the Summer Country right now, so for every minute spent in CrossTown, five will have passed on the Other Side.”
I pulled back deeper behind the walls of my spirit for a moment, and contacted Keeper. “Do you have a current download of the Temporal Tidetables?”
Round, violet eyes blinked, then Keeper grunted. “Yes.”
“Faerie to CrossTown?”
“Five:One.”
I might be able to do this and still make it to Corvinus without irritating him unduly. As a colleague in a somewhat rarefied profession, I owed Corvinus respect. As my onetime sponsor and Master in the Ways, I owed him more than that. But he had said at my earliest convenience, and he understood business.
“I’ll accompany you into the Summer Country and listen to the offer.”
“Excellent,” he said. “And the transfer has been made to your account. Shall we go?”
I rose as he did, and followed as he led the way out through the crowd. Outside, a yellow cab driver cussed a horse and coach in a cockney accent. The horse didn’t look impressed, and neither did the scaly coachman. Jack walked with a long, even stride, and I stayed close as he turned from the glitter of the anchor lights and down the shadowy recesses of a WanderWay. Shadows curled around us. His hand caught my elbow and steadied me as a great rushing murmur surrounded us, and the world spun sickeningly underfoot.
He pushed me forward, and we stepped out of the shadow of rearing golden trees, through lush grasses an impossible shade of green that whispered around our feet, and into the soft, directionless light of Faerie.
CHAPTER IV
FETCH LED me up a twisting path marked out through the grasses by waist-high stones staggered at ten foot intervals. Trees stretched up and around us. As we continued I saw that all the local wood had golden foliage and bark of burnished bronze. To the north a darkening came over the distant trees, and even from that range I could sense the independent hostility of that place.
It is wise to pay attention to such feelings in Faerie.
The path wound out through the whispering grasses. I could hear laughter ringing in the light breeze that rose up around us as we walked. The trees clashed their metallic leaves rhythmically, not quite in time with the wind, and while I could barely discern the intonations of speech, the words eluded me. Something about Faerie always left me feeling like a slightly dull child, overhearing but not quite understanding the adult conversation passing over my head.
I dogged the heels of my guide. Slowly the trees drew away around us, until I beheld the glorious span of a Faerie castle. Tall, narrow, glittering like a polished jewel, the castle had a delicately, sharp, crystalline feel to it. Conservative architecture, for the Fae. A stream of shining water reached out of the distant hills to hold the castle in a crooked embrace, then stretched silvery fingers off down through the grass and into the golden forest.
The path we trod led us down and along that water. As we walked into the brighter light, out from under the shelter of the trees, I saw that a dark shadow flitted along at Jack’s heels, though the light remained directionless. I cast no shadow, not even a pale shade. And when we came to the stream, I could see Jack’s profile clearly in the bright waters, as if they were a mirror, but according to that chuckling brook, he walked alone but for a thin twisting distortion like waves of heat dancing above a fire. No reflection of mine stared back.
“This land doesn’t recognize me.”
Fetch glanced back at me. “I thought you had been here before.”
“Twice. Once as Aengus’ guest at the Dagda’s court, and once as Oisin’s guest at Lugh’s court.”
“Where you offended Silverhand.”
I shrugged. “He was drunk. So was I.”
Jack grinned like a wolf. “Drunk or not, he remembers.”
I smiled wanly. “Holding grudges seems to be a hobby of Powers.�
��
“It is,” Jack said seriously. “And you should be complimented that Silverhand feels you worth the trouble. Regardless, both times you were a guest, and the masters of those lands extended the courtesy of recognition. In this case, the master of this land isn’t going to the trouble, and you have neither the age, nor the power to make much of an impression on this place.”
I snorted. “Thanks. So I’m not a guest, then?”
Jack shook his head, long hair falling across the midnight depths of his eyes. “You are a prospective employee.”
“I’ll have to remember that, and be suitably insolent,” I said.
Jack chuckled. “You already have more than enough insolence for any two mortal sorcerers.”
I couldn’t think of a witty enough reply to that, and I wanted to appreciate the sight of the castle spires rearing over us, parting the distant puffs of cloud like mountain peaks, so I said nothing.
Movement stirred at the gates. A figure in ornate full plate armor stepped forward. A squad in similar armor stood erect around the gates. More armored forms stood unmoving on the battlements.
I looked at Jack, cocking an eyebrow. “Gothic plate?”
“The master of this place has certain fond memories of high chivalric romances,” he said with some amusement. “It would be wise to remember that. Address her as Lady.”
“You’re kidding.”
The knight chose that moment to salute us both. “Well met, Messenger of Death. I see that your errand met with success.”
I glanced at Jack, to see if his teeth were grinding, but he wore a deliberately pleasant expression on his face. “Puck, why don’t you and your little band of tricksters find something else to do?”
Merriment colored the voice issuing out of the helm. “I thought you knew. Same as you, I’m working off a debt. Though the torment of this place is almost worth it such times as this, oh Messenger of Death, when I have the chance to have a little fun with her Ladyship’s guests.” The helmet swiveled toward me. “What about it, buddy? Best two out of three?”
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